


such a dream

by seb



Series: touch [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pale JohnDave, Pining, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-25 17:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seb/pseuds/seb
Summary: He feels so warm. Another hit and he’ll probably be buzzed, he’s always been a lightweight. Two scoops of chocolate ice cream as a kid and he was fucking gone.▬▬▬A little late, but for DirkJohn Week's weed/angst prompt. Why choose one when you can have both?





	1. standing in the eye of the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Based off yet another raddical video [http://raddical.tumblr.com/post/161451019284/oh-yurmp].
> 
> Will come in 3-4 chapters, with an additional oneshot in the same "universe." Can't guarantee a time for it, though, a lot's going on lately;;
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments on my last fic!! It means sosososo much to me and really helps me to continue writing... much love, enjoy!

“This game fucking sucks,” John expresses eloquently. 

His skater is clipping through the railing and the results won’t get off the screen from the last round, plus the graphics look like shit. There’s a whole 7 pixels on the screen and John hates all of them.

“Dude, no, what,” Dave says, lounging back on his couch without a care in the world like this is what the game’s supposed to do. “This game is gold, better than gold. The physics are amazing.”

“Oh yeah,” John deadpans, dropping his controller onto the floor in frustration. “I love when my leg glitches through the fucking asphalt.”

“And it’s broken,” Dave points out, and he’s not wrong, the game has been telling him for the past 10 minutes that every bone in his leg is broken, but still. This is pathetic.

John rolls his eyes and puts his feet up on the table, indicating what he wants a change of plans. Dave picks up on this, turning off his console and switching the channel to some stupid cartoon. Universe something.

The door opens and with it comes rushing cold. “I’m back,” Dirk announces as he walks over the threshold, securely closing the door and wrapping his jacket tighter around him. 

“Sick,” Dave says, excitement thrumming through him as he sits up and turns the TV down. He bends his legs beneath him, leaning over the arm of the couch to talk to his brother. “You get it?”

“Of course I got it,” Dirk says, unearthing his hand from his jacket pocket to reveal a baggie of- holy shit.

“Holy shit,” John says. He stares at Dirk, nose pink from the cold and cheeks flushed, baggie of weed in his hand. Holy shit.

“Oh, hey,” Dirk greets him, waving his free hand. “Didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Dave told me he had something to show me,” John says, nervous laughter bubbling out of him. “I’m guessing the game wasn’t it.”

“As great as Tony Hawk is,” Dave proclaims, sitting up straighter, “it’s not as good as that good kush.”

Dirk shakes his head fondly, throwing the baggie on the coffee table as he begins stripping off all the extra clothing he has on. John notices, not for the first time, that he’s extra meticulous about things like where his stuff goes. Jacket on the coat hanger in the kitchen, not the hall. Gloves in the left pocket. Sweater over the dining room chair. Keys on the counter.

Meticulous like his hair, which he’s carefully combing back as he speaks. Shit, he’s talking.

“Earth to Egbert,” Dave says, waving his hand in front of John’s face. “Stop ogling my bro, you joining us or what?”

“Huh?” John responds, ever articulate.

Dirk’s produced a pipe from behind the couch. He’s holding it gingerly, brushing off dust and lint that’s collected in the velvet bag it rested in. Dave’s shown it to John before, but he thought he was just fucking around. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dirk says, shrugging one shoulder. “Won’t smoke around you if you’re not into that, either. Just gotta, you know, say something.”

“Of course,” John says, and he doesn’t know what he means. Dirk and Dave look at him quizzically. “I’ll smoke with you guys!”

What the fuck? He’s never expressed interest for weed a day in his life until he saw Dirk carrying it. Oh my god, he’s going to get high. His dad would kill him after being proud of him for stepping out of his comfort zone and trying new things.

Dave lifts a brow, failing to suppress a smile as he nods at John. “Alright, Egbert. I see you. Nerdy kid goes wild, huh?”

“Shut up,” John says, defensive and extremely nervous, now. “You know I’m no goody two shoes.”

“Oh yeah,” Dave replies, taking the pipe and a lighter from Dirk- where did that even come from?- while Dirk… boards up the doors and windows, except John is exaggerating and he’s just putting towels down and closing the blinds. Fuck, okay. This is real.

“You sleep with your socks on three hours past your bedtime, real rebellious.”

“I’ll have you  _ know _ ,” John says, “that I’ve taken hits from my dad’s pipe before.”

“I was  _ there _ , dude,” Dave says, and John’s cheeks color from embarrassment. Dirk’s got a smile on his face when he walks back. His ears are still tinged pink. “Your dad let you because you wouldn’t shut up about the smell. You hacked up a lung and he stopped smoking in front of you because of it.”

“Whatever,” John says, watching Dave pack the bowl. The shit’s already finely grinded, which John knew was a thing that had to be done because of various movies. He’s kind of sad he didn’t get to watch the whole process.

“If you ever feel the need to tap out,” Dirk says, sitting on the floor at the end of the coffee table, “let me know. Dave will probably be a little shit. I’m a lot nicer when I’m baked.”

“Fuck you,” Dave says, and oh shit, he’s lighting it. There’s the smell. It’s lit. John snorts at his own accidental joke.

Dave hands the pipe to Dirk. Must be some respectful thing going on, oldest goes first. Or whoever bought the weed goes first. Either way, Dirk puts his lips around the pipe, both hands coming up to cradle it as he inhales. His eyes close, blissful, and his posture melts into something more casual and less robotic. He moves the pipe away from his mouth before he exhales, all the smoke leaving his lungs in a slow stream. John is… entranced. By the smoke, yeah.

Dirk cracks an eye open to catch John looking at him, and the latter falters, jerking up in his seat. The blond’s lip quirks up into a smirk as he hands the pipe to Dave, his hands planting themselves behind him on the ground. He leans back, stretching his neck out.

Dave snaps at him once to get his attention, smug. “Anyway,” he starts, and John kind of wants to die. “You put your finger over this hole,” he continues, demonstrating as he speaks. “Let your breath out, you know, get ready for it. Then put it to your mouth and take a deep breath in- through your chest, not just your nose. If that makes sense.” 

He puts the pipe up to his lips, taking a deep breath in just like Dirk did. Instead of just exhaling, though, he passes John the pipe and breathes out through his nose, all the smoke coming through there, instead, and woah.

“That’s cool,” John says quickly, gingerly holding the pipe in his hands. His turn now. No funny business.

“He’s showing off,” Dirk says, looking way too fucking relaxed for one hit, John thinks. “Don’t fuel him.”

“Again, fuck you,” Dave says, blowing out the last of the smoke.

Dirk shrugs, a “what can you do?” gesture, before sitting back to watch John. Retaliation, he guesses. Watch and be watched.

John takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Puts his finger over the hole. The pipe is warm and smells awful, and he’s about to inhale that shit. God, he’s really about to smoke weed. In his best friend’s apartment. It’s Tuesday, this is crazy.

He puts his lips to the pipe and inhales. Oh my god, it itches. His throat is on fire. He’s going to cough-  _ don’t fucking cough _ , don’t look like a noob. Okay. He’s breathing it in. This is fine, his eyes are just watering a little. He closes them. Better. He can handle this.

He holds the smoke in his lungs. Bats his eyelashes a little as he opens his eyes. Dave and Dirk are watching him with rapt attention.

John turns to look at Dave and blows all the smoke into his face. Dave splutters, waving his hand in John’s direction in an attempt to slap him. John laughs, more smoke dissipating in the air around him as he does. He looks over at Dirk, who has the widest smile on his face that John’s ever seen. He hands the pipe back over to him, and Dirk gratefully takes it. 

Back to watching, John supposes. He feels so warm. Another hit and he’ll probably be buzzed, he’s always been a lightweight. Two scoops of chocolate ice cream as a kid and he was fucking gone.

Dirk takes another hit from the pipe. He licks his lips after, and- oh. They’re very red. His cheeks are flushed again, like he just came in from the cold. His hair is messy and John finds out why when Dirk runs his hand through it, exhaling again. John’s never seen him so disheveled. The smoke makes him look so washed out, skin pale wherever it’s not rosy, hair an ashy peach color. It’s not supposed to be attractive, it sounds like a fucking desecrated house; but John is smitten.

Dirk smirks, like he knows how hot he looks when he’s melting into himself, posture fucked and defenses slack. No more stoic madman hiding behind shades; instead John gets a full view of blown-out pupils, bitten lips, and the ever-rising corner of Dirk’s lips.

Speaking of, there they go now, curving into a smirk. Fuck. Foiled again.

“You seem really interested in the smoke,” Dirk says, and John feels his face heat up even more than it already was. He’s at the point of embarrassment where he’s probably sporting a blush, fucking incredible.

“Well, yeah,” John says, and takes the pipe as it’s passed to him. “New experiences and all. Never smoked or been smoked around.”

“That’s false,” Dave says, limbs spread on the upholstery. “There was one day I ditched a movie you were watching in my room for an assignment and hotboxed the en suite bathroom. Shit stank for days. I was so fucking bored.”

“You are incredibly rude,” John responds, sounding like a complete asshole, oh my god. He takes another hit. It’s easier this time, goes down smoother and doesn’t bring tears to his eyes. It sets in, warm and languid in his bones. He slumps down against the arm of the couch and holds out the pipe for someone to take. 

Unfortunately, Dirk’s the one grabbing it out of his hand, and John almost doesn’t catch himself from going slack-jawed. He does something with his mouth that makes the smoke come out in different shapes, but John keeps watching his face rather than the show. His tongue works as he exhales, his chest slowly deflating. He has one hand gripping his leg and the other steady and sure on the pipe and he looks so god damn good. John is going to lose his mind.

“Now who’s the show-off?” Dave asks, and Dirk laughs. Really fucking laughs, throaty and deep and his voice is scratched up from the smoke, which John should have expected, but man he can’t stop thinking about what he’d sound like saying John’s name and his brain is rambling and he can’t stop it,  _ oh man _ . Dirk’s legs are stretched out in such a comfortable position, his arms flexing and relaxing, his shoulders rolling back periodically. If he tries to crack his back, John might scream. Dirk looks so fluid in all of his movements, even when he’s  _ supposed  _ to be disoriented. John’s seen movies.

“You feelin’ it, Mr. Krabs?” Dave questions, nudging John with his foot. It’s a dumb reference so John laughs, the sound bubbling out of him in fits and bursts. He keeps slipping down the couch, putting his feet up in Dave’s lap as he rests his head on the couch. He closes his eyes and sees a kaleidoscope of colors. He thinks that’s cool, so he keeps opening and closing his eyes until they get dry. He turns his head to look at Dirk, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them to see strobe lights play out on his skin. 

Before he knows it, he’s climbing off the couch, scooching past Dave’s ankles to get to Dirk, and he shouldn’t be doing this. John  _ really  _ shouldn’t be reaching out to run a hand down Dirk’s arm, but here he is, and the warmth sets him on fire. His nerves all react at once and he shudders, pressing his hand up to Dirk’s bicep. Dirk watches him carefully, moving slowly as to not scare him away as he puts the spent pipe on the table. Dave lays on the couch, seemingly napping, so John lets himself feel up his best friend’s brother.

“You’re, like, made of electricity, dude,” John says, running the back of his fingers down Dirk’s arm. He laughs, tilting his head to watch John’s face shift from one form of wonder to another.

“I mean, technically,” Dirk begins, raising his hand to gesture as he speaks. “We all are, right? There’s electricity running through our brains and all our nerves, sending signals to one another. Maybe-”

“Shut up,” Dave says, not asleep yet but sounding like he could be. “You’re going to say something gay, like, ‘Maybe we have a connection.’ or some shit. Stop. Shut up.”

“ _ Or _ ,” Dirk continues, “maybe I was going to finish my scientific explanation that John might be looking for, asshole.” 

“He’s fucking high, man,” Dave says, dropping his shades on the coffee table and rubbing his face. “The boy cares about nothing but physical contact and food right now.”

“I could go for some Ghostbusters, too,” John chimes in. Dirk laughs and Dave groans from behind his hands, but, like a good friend, complies.

Night draws near, and John finds himself dozing off between his best friend and said best friend’s bro on the couch, bones jelly. He’s like a frayed wire, connection not complete but sparks buzzing and flying at every touch. Head lolling towards Dave, John gets a good look at Dirk focusing on the movie before him, and falls asleep with a smile on his face.


	2. get him alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dirk has a ponysona and John pines.

Months blur into each other. John gets smoked out a few more times and his father doesn’t mention the smell when he does laundry. College is college, then summer rolls around, and John finds himself in the Strider household once again.

“This is better,” John says, remembering a day in the fall when he got what was probably the best surprise in his life.

“Yeah?” Dave says, oblivious to John’s intentions as he hits the buttons on his controller like a pro. Super Mario Bros. Brawl is a specialty of his, something he’s mastered over their years of playing it throughout the entirety of the night, burning out TV after TV.

“This game. Better than that stupid Tony Hawk one,” John finishes, guiding his character to the end of the screen. Pit, of course, because who the fuck else is worthy of being played on this level? Who else can maneuver through the clouds like Pit can? Not Metaknight, Dave. Not Metaknight.

“That game is still a masterpiece,” Dave says, sharp and serious, holy shit. He fucks Pit over, advancing the screen while John’s trying to pick up food to regain his health. “Talk shit, get hit, Egbert.” 

No more shit-talking Tony Hawk, okay. They play for a while longer before Dave glances at the time on his phone, mumbling under his breath. John pauses the game, setting his controller on the table and bumping Dave with his shoulder.

“Need to pick up that prescription?” John asks, stretching his arms out towards Dave. The blond slaps them away as he pockets his phone and stands, bending this way and that to crack various bones that John doesn’t know the names of.

“Yeah, got the text, which means they’re going to throw it together once I get there,” Dave replies, jerking his head so his shades fall onto his face and pulling on a sweater. He’s such a fucking dork and John is glad to be his best friend. “Don’t drool over my bro while I’m gone,” he says, and smirks.

“Fuck you,” John huffs, stretching out on the couch where Dave was and burying his face in a pillow. 

“In my dreams,” Dave says, and slaps John’s leg as he makes his way out the door, throwing a peace sign behind him. 

John groans into the pillow for an extended moment before he hears someone clear their throat from afar. He jumps, sitting up as quick as he laid down. Dirk is standing at the patio door, hand covered in oil waving in at John.

He scrambles off the couch, laughing nervously as he makes his way to the screen door separating him and his stupid, big crush. Crush? God, that sounds so gay and stupid.

“If you’re done having an existential little thing,” Dirk says, smile in his words as John refuses to look up at his face. “Think you can go fetch me a Phillips head from my room? My dumb ass forgot to put it back in my toolbox.”

John nods furiously, absconding from the doorway down to- Dirk’s room, god  _ damn  _ it. He steps in slowly, careful not to disturb any of the metal, wiring or… puppets scattered on the floor. Even this messy, it looks like each thing serves a purpose, and John doesn’t know how Dirk does it. He spots the screwdriver on Dirk’s desk, amidst doodles and scribbled code and fucking ponysona drawings, oh my  _ god _ . Of course his stampy-thing would be his hat.

As quickly as he came in, John leaves, screwdriver in hand. He makes his way back to the patio, finding Dirk leaning on the railing as he approaches.

He looks so peaceful in the sun. He’s really in his element, in scrappy clothes and ridiculous knee-high shoes that allow him to work with hunks of metal and electricity safely. Well, not exactly safe. John knows about all the injuries Dirk gets from just being completely numb to the pain that comes from working after years and years of experience.

Still. Dirk’s facing the sun, eyes closed and small smile on his face. If John didn’t know any better, he’d think Dirk was reminiscing of his times out on that endless ocean, when this is all he did with his time. No, he knows now that the blissed out look on his face is from the collection of new memories, happier memories that he creates every day with his bro at his side. Memories that John can be a part of.

“Sorry,” Dirk says, clearing his throat. He turns around, holding his hand out for the tool. John opens the screen door, stepping outside and handing it to him. He figures it’s nice enough to stay out and closes the door to keep any bugs out of the house before leaning on the wall beside it. He does not fuck with railings on top floors like this, no thank you.

“You’re good, dude,” John says, then goes quiet as he watches Dirk work. He knows better than to distract him by talking or anything, so he watches instead. Watches the way Dirk picks up a hunk of metal with ease, biceps barely flexing as he sets it on the ground. Watches the way his long legs stretch and bend carefully, supporting all the weight and staying balanced, poised. 

Not for the first time, John notices how muscular Dirk is in the subtlest of ways. He’s not a total hunk, no muscle tees and shorts to show off his quads like Jake happens to do. But it’s there, and it’s so obvious that it is. He works with ease, his skill apparent in everything he does as well as his eagerness to learn everything he doesn’t know. John admires it more than he cares to think about. But here he is, thinking about the guy standing right in front of him.

Dirk glances up at him and John’s heart skips a beat. He feels like molasses under the warmth of the sun, bones turned gelatinous and eyes slow to adjust to Dirk’s form coming  _ towards  _ him, shit, fuck.

“Hey,” Dirk says, cool as the glass of lemonade just waiting for John in the kitchen. “Thanks.” Dirk shoots him a smile and a nod, tapping John’s arm and leaving a smudge of oil on his sleeve. Guess he’s never washing that shirt again. John sort of feels like melting into the concrete as Dirk walks inside, content as he could be.

His attention snaps back to his location. On the patio of his best friend’s apartment, fawning over his brother. John scrubs a hand down his face and makes a fairly disgusted sound. He can’t be doing this. He’s been harboring this little crush for years, plain enough to where Dave has noticed and teased him about it. It’s not… going to go anywhere, and not even because John’s not gay- he’s bi, learned that real quick- just that Dirk is Dirk. Dirk is handsome, strong, talented, a big dork, so fucking caring, protective, and so many things John doesn’t think he can live up to. Yeah, John’s strong, he cares endlessly about his friends, he’s got looks and talents of his own- but this is  _ Dirk  _ he’s talking about. Dirk who crashes movie nights just to provide educated commentary, Dirk who drags John and Dave to every fair that pops up to see the horses, Dirk who goes on sleep-deprived rants about the things and people he loves before passing out in the middle of a word. Dirk is  _ Dirk _ .

John heads inside to lay on the couch and die before Dave comes back. He can’t keep crushing on Dave’s brother like this.  _ But he’s so hot _ , his brain tells him, to avoid another gay epiphany.  _ He likes ponies _ , John shoots back.  _ And it’s cute _ , he gets in return.  _ Fuck you, brain _ , John thinks. He does find it cute that Dirk likes ponies and animated shows about them so much. How can he not when the guy comes walking out in Rainbow Dash pyjamas for every new episode?  _ He gives you weed, too _ , John’s brain reminds him. That’s less important, but still a very good point. Dirk gives John weed which allows him to feel up Dirk(‘s limbs) without consequence, because Dirk likes the science side of it. John likes to touch him.

John does a lot of thinking about Dirk when he’s high, and much more touching than he should be doing. It’s fine, it comes off as curiosity, but he knows better. It takes so much restraint in him not to run his hands up to Dirk’s neck when he has the chance, press a finger to the scars there, breathe the smoke out of Dirk’s mouth and kiss him ‘til it all dissipates. He can picture it, right on this couch; legs pretzeled together and John’s hands in Dirk’s hair, on his side where he knows Dirk shivers to the touch from a tickle attempt. The sound of his voice would drive John crazy, saying his name under his breath when their lips part, _ John, John, John… _

“John,” Dirk calls, and John whips his head up from where it was embedded in the fucking fabric of the pillow. “Can you get the door? Dave’s a dumbass and forgot his keys.”

John nods and clambers off the couch, opening the door to Dave’s smug face. 

“Thanks, John,” he says, slamming his hand down on John’s shoulder because he’s aware, of course he knew what would happen when John was left alone with Dirk, that fucking cretin.

“Don’t mention it,” John says, and means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will the last chapter come out? Who knows. It's in need of a lot of work...
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated! Find me @ testifyds on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated. Contact me on tumblr @ testifyds! :3c


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